experiments
by suteras
Summary: "Alright." He breathes out slowly, attempting to calm himself down. He can see the challenge there upon David's face, something unspoken and he'd be damned if he were beaten by the Marquis at his own game. "Alright. We'll do it your way."


Sometimes, Rush gets frustrated at how _expressionless_ David seems at times.

If something happens, _especially_ within his court, he is overwhelmingly _impassive._ If something blows up outside, there is not a change in his expression. If Rush _kisses_ him, he is still so _dispassionate_. Not to say that the Marquis is _always_ like this, but as his new partner, Rush finds that it's getting a little _too_ habitual of the man.

And, of course, the Sykes is planning to do something _about_ it.

He _experiments_ at first; he tells small jokes in front of David, tries to get him to laugh in _any_ manner yet there is still not a trace of a smile. The only way he shows amusement now, is through those beautiful _eyes_ of his but for Rush, it isn't _enough_. He tries to _tickle_ the Marquis, and it ends up with David taking his hands and placing them gently to his side. Heck, even _Blocter_ tries to make such an expression twitch by _any_ sort of prank or joke available, but there is still not even a _flicker_.

And so, Rush takes a few days to just _think_ about it.

They are not under _stress_ or anything. There is no need for _any_ type of neither duress nor front for Athlum is _independent_ now, able to stand on her own and _that_ should be enough for David to smile more now, right? Although, he supposes he cannot discount how many _more_ responsibilities happens upon them now because of that, but Torgal assures him that everything is running smoothly, that everything is as it should. And while the threat of the Conqueror is not to be taken lightly, Rush has seen far more _depressing_ situations and yet _still_ David's expression moves.

The Marquis is like a puzzle piece. Rush doesn't really _like_ puzzles.

The only way, really, to solve _this_ one—as he has with all _others_ in the past—is to merely bulldoze through it all. Yet, perhaps it is not so _simple_, for David is not someone you can just bowl over. He is _intricate_ and he is to be handled _delicately_.

Although, not as _delicately_ as Rush plans now.

He decides to _experiment_.

He buys a small visistone recorder. A _super_ mini one, because he doesn't want his recordings to be fancy nor huge. No, they're to be short and _quick_ because _Rush_ won't be taking too long on each suggestion he makes to himself.

Firstly, he _pinches_ David.

It starts at the nose, then the mouth, then the hips and stomach and arms and there _is_ a response, though only of faint amusement. Nevertheless, Rush pursues and starts _biting_ him as well, everywhere and _anywhere_ and David, giving up _questioning_ his partner, settles for taking it without a seeming care in the world.

It is when his mouth nears the Marquis' neck that the other seems to respond in a _favourable_ way.

A short moan, a slight arch of David's spine; his eyes close, but that is not _enough_. Not _yet_. Rush wants _more_ and he retreats, eyeing the Marquis' impassive expression and makes sure to note the very fleeting _dazed_ expression he's sure to have seen.

Secondly, he starts creating a large _mess_.

He tears off the covers of their bed, throws it on the ground in a haphazard pile and starts even throwing _feathers_ around, ingredients for _soup_ and even monster components. As he does this, Rush is having a little _too_ much fun but he doesn't relent, not _yet_. He wants to see David's expression, and when the Marquis finally comes in-!

"Rush." His tone is still as impassive as ever, but there is the _slightest_ hint of annoyance underlying the words. The Sykes looks up in hope, but those tan features are as immovable as stone. "Clean this up, please." He leaves.

_Alright_. Rush concludes; now _pouting_ and sitting upon the bed, he crosses his legs and _thinks_. _Not as fruitful as the first plan, but I think I'm getting somewhere…_

The third plan is a mix of the first _and_ second attempts.

He makes sure that the Marquis is free—or _somewhat_ free, at least; he isn't disinclined to steal David from his work when necessary—and forcibly tugs him on his shoulder and starts carting him off to bed. There is _surprise_ laced in David's tone when he protests, but he doesn't wriggle _too_ much. That's a clear a go as anything.

Haphazardly throwing the Marquis onto the bed, Rush follows suit immediately, brows knitted in an intensely concentrated fashion. Eyes narrowed now, David doesn't question his partner, and merely _watches_.

For some reason, this _infuriates_ Rush.

Shifting so that one knee is in-between David's own, so that he is _straddling_ his left leg, he leans forward, hands supporting his weight as he leans over the Marquis. "_Say_ something." He demands, and when David doesn't _do_ anything, a low grunt emits from his chest and he continues. "C'_mon_, Dave. _Any_ reaction. _Anything_ you can throw at me." When he receives silence, the Sykes rolls his eyes for he is not _oblivious_. He _sees_ that mischievous spark in the other's eyes and he exhales slowly, shifting so that he now lies fully on top of David, hips resting against the Marquis' own and their legs are tangled. Arms lifting him just above David's face, dark hues narrow upon the handsome features.

"Alright." He breathes out slowly, attempting to calm himself down. He can _see_ the challenge there upon David's face, something unspoken and he'd be _damned_ if he were beaten by the Marquis at his own game. "Alright. We'll do it your way." There is not even a ghost of a triumphant grin upon the other's face, but he'll make _sure_ there will be something there after this is all over.

And so, Rush decides to start.

Lips descend first upon the hollow of a smooth neck and he's kissing slowly and sensually, pressing down _deeply_ and with the intent to tease. There is a low breath expelled from the Marquis, and Rush keeps on going. His mouth descends haphazardly, without _any_ clear direction and he _does_ this for some time, tastes and _feels_ the smoothness of David's flesh, the _familiarity_ of it and he gives a light, _guttural_ moan, an _appetizer_ for the other to feast on and he can _tell_ he does, for there is a quickening pace in those lungs, and as he leans back slightly, he can see out of the corner of his eye those lips parting in a silent plea.

Oh, but he doesn't stop _there_. Positioning himself with his arms, his hips are a heavy _weight_ upon the other's own midsection. Already, he feels heat be a _constant_ visitor to that region and ever so _slowly_ does he start to shift; his torso and legs are kept still but his hips _move_, _grinding_ ever so _gently_ against the Marquis and by the answering _arch_ of his back, Rush can tell he's _getting_ somewhere.

He raises his hands now, if only to interlace them both with David's own ones and as he initiates a tight grip, he feels a responding squeeze. And even as he's gyrating against the other male, he picks up after the short pause with his mouth, lips finding homage upon the crook of the Marquis' neck and he's initiating a light suction there, saliva quite _messy_ in its distribution and there's a _groan_ of annoyance from David but, really, he should be _used_ to it by now. Rush is messy both in life and in _bed_ but even so, he does not cease his actions. His tongue darts out, _tasting_ him before teeth descend and they graze _gently_ across the skin and Rush starts to nibble at the flesh, now _really_ not caring how much saliva he gets everywhere.

As if David can _complain_, really. With how much Rush is softening him up, he expects _some_ kind of reaction soon and he's eager to bring it as _quickly_ as possible. For now, he decides to kick his gyrations up a notch. Shifting hips become a little faster, rocking _harder_ against David and there—oh _there_ Rush can _feel_ it through the other's body, this beautiful person _arching_ under him, a sharp _gasp_ escaping those delectable lips and Rush wants _more_. He feels those coarse digits tighten inexplicably around his own, and he only licks a hot trail from the bottom of David's neck to the back of his ear in response, pausing very briefly to graze his teeth at the shell of the Marquis' ear and in response, David turns his head now to the side to allow Rush more room, perhaps almost _unconsciously_ for the Sykes can _see_ those eyes now screwed up in the soft waves of pleasure buffeting him.

"Ru-ush…" The Marquis murmurs, his voice full of _desire_ and Rush cannot exactly _deny_ him. The way David's body is acting under him is incredibly _awesome_, for lack of a better word and so he pauses in his ministrations, sitting up once more. There is a slight groan of disappointment at the halted motions, but Rush hushes him as he leans down and delivers a chaste kiss. Lingering there, this action is both for leisure and to _stall_ for_ this_ is the tricky part.

Always, _always_ Rush has _some_ sort of trouble with David's clothing. There are _far_ too many garments and buttons and chains and it's like a puzzle in and of _itself_. He remembers the _first_ time they had lain together—or rather _hadn't_ because Rush had managed to take_ far_ too long on undressing David the buzz was ultimately killed. The second time, one of the chains on his shirt had managed to somehow catch themselves in Rush's _pubic_ _hair_ and they spent the rest of the night picking them all from the uniform after finally deciding to just cut the knot away.

The third time—now _there_, Rush _refuses_ to even _think_ about.

He counts himself lucky when he's able to undress David properly, for Emmy had been _laughing_ when she'd caught them in the middle of doing it—or rather, _attempting_ to do it and Rush feels a sudden paranoia that the doors aren't quite as locked as he'd thought. Pausing while in the midst of ushering David's undershirt off, he gets up. "Can you just—finish that?" He asks. David stares, almost _incredulously_ before slowly finishing the job as Rush gets up from the bed and admittedly walks very _awkwardly_ to the door. He'd gotten hard during their foreplay, and the tightness of his current garments _certainly_ doesn't help matters when it _hurts_ every time the cloth brushes painfully against his length.

Now _hopping_ to the door, he can hear David chuckling to himself—more than likely already done with his own clothes—and he shoots a dirty look back at him. He almost wishes he hadn't because of… well, let's just say that the blond had taken the liberty to pose in a rather tempting way, a way that doesn't really leave _much_ to the imagination of what David is currently _thinking_ right now and he inches to the door with a renewed vigour.

And he almost gets a heart attack when it opens before he can even _touch_ it.

"My Lord, the Duke of Qubine wishes to—"

_Oh, fuck._

A certain Sovani head peeks into the room and there is not a piece of gold in the _world_ for the reaction that is dredged out of Torgal.

David is mortified, judging by the sounds of blankets and the incredulous yell of "_Torgal_!" The Sovani himself is _more_ than a little shell-shocked and _just_ as mortified. And Rush?

_Laughter_ erupts from his lips and he's gasping and shaking and just _cackling_ to himself, Torgal's face imprinted _indelibly_ upon his retina and he cannot stop _heaving_ for the life of him; tears brim his eyes and his knees are _trembling_ and he relents quite _easily_, collapsing to the ground in _many_ fits of laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, Torgal slowly backs out of the room and he imagines the Sovani to be quite _scarred_ by the image of his Lord _naked_ and in a '_take me_' position.

Just when Rush thinks he's calmed down, he starts to straighten up, fingers wiping at the corners of his eyes. He glances once at David, and breaks down laughing again.

"Oh, _jeez_, your _faces_. Your _faces_!" Rush _howls_ and subsequently rolls around, incredibly, vastly, and _endlessly_ amused by this _entire_ situation. Along with Torgal's features, David's _too_ imprints on his mind and, oh, he _has_ won. He's won because _that_ face David cannot _possibly_ compose, not in a million _years_.

Maybe he doesn't have to thoroughly touch David to break those impassive features.

Still chuckling to himself, Rush sits up once more. A cock of his head, and his suggestion flows freely. "Haha, I should leave the door unlocked more often."

He immediately gets a pillow to the face.


End file.
